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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24820048">Passion Play</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza'>emmaliza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blake's 7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Bad Sex, Episode: s04e01 Rescue, Episode: s04e03 Traitor, Episode: s04e07 Assassin, Episode: s04e09 Sand, Episode: s04e11 Orbit, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Series D, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:07:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24820048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon starts sleeping with Tarrant. Tarrant isn't as satisfied by this as he could be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kerr Avon/Del Tarrant, offscreen Tarrant/Servalan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Passion Play</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by the kinkmeme prompt: "Set in season four. They're having really fucked up sex where Avon is either all over Tarrant but telling him he doesn't really want it or aloof and cold but telling him he enjoys it. Tarrant finds it really frustrating but also really arousing."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why did you follow me onto Terminal?”</p>
<p><em>Damn.</em> Tarrant thought he might have escaped that question, in the chaos of their escape – indeed that Avon might have forgotten about that entirely. He should have realised Avon is sharper than that. “Oh, I thought you knew everything,” he replies breezily, sinking into the cushions of Dorian's living quarters. “Why don't you tell me?”</p>
<p>Avon doesn't respond, not even with one of those ominous smiles he gives. Fair enough, it wasn't much of a joke. Tarrant sighs.</p>
<p>“I don't see why it matters,” he says. “It's not as if it would have made any difference. We would have had to beam down when Liberator started breaking up.” <em>Because of you,</em> he manages not to say. Not that he usually minds rubbing Avon's face in his failings, but now doesn't seem like the time. Avon examines him thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“Perhaps not. But I am still curious.”</p>
<p>“Oh, well if you're <em>curious</em> I suppose we must do all we can to appease that.” Tarrant isn't sure what he's talking about. He'd like to make an exit, to have something better to do than evaluate his own behaviour – thinking before he acts has never been Tarrant's strong suit – but as they are sheltered in Dorian's base, if not exactly safe, there's no crisis to consume his attention. “I wasn't the only one, you know. Why don't you ask–?”</p>
<p>He cuts himself off mid-sentence. Of course, there is a very good reason for Avon not to ask the other person who was there. Just one Tarrant hasn't quite gotten through his skull yet.</p>
<p>Avon swallows hard, Tarrant can see his throat bob, but his face doesn't move. “Cally is dead. I can't ask her why she came after me.”</p>
<p>Indeed she is. Tarrant averts his eyes. In truth he can't answer Avon's question because he doesn't know why he followed Avon down – he and Cally didn't discuss it, it just seemed the natural thing to do. Cally, if it were her Vila dragged out of Servalan's lair unconscious and not him, she would have an answer – she always seemed to know why things were happening, even if she didn't see fit to share with the rest of them. Perks of telepathy, he supposes. Tarrant can't say he shares that privileged insight.</p>
<p>If he were feeling spiteful, he could throw Cally's death in Avon's face, tell him it's his own fault she's not here to ask – not six months ago, he probably would have done. But now he doesn't feel like it. He's sure Avon knows that better than any of them. “I'm not sure why it matters,” he says, “beaming down didn't get us any more or less dead than we would have been regardless. So why do you care?”</p>
<p>“Because <em>I could have killed you</em>,” Avon tells him, warning growl entering his voice. “I almost did. And you came after me anyway. Why?”</p>
<p>Tarrant hesitates. <em>So he did.</em> It's not as if he forgot that, the feel of Avon's gun pressed against his belly, cold and hard as the man himself – Cally told him Avon meant it, and he was inclined to believe her. But he followed the man even after that. Admittedly, 'why?' is not an unjustified question.</p>
<p>“Come now Avon, did you really expect anything else?” he croaks. Only now does he realise how close Avon has come to lean in to him, brown eyes dark and boring. “You wouldn't have bothered to threaten us if you hadn't known what we would do. We were always going to follow you.”</p>
<p>That is how he finds himself bent over the back of one of Dorian's sofa's, Avon's teeth savagely pressed against his neck. It is admittedly rather sudden, but Tarrant remembers that they're both grieving, and grief does strange things to people. He could stop Avon if he wanted to. Despite their many disagreements, he knows Avon is a better man than to force him into this if he didn't want it. But the truth is, he wants it. He wants...</p>
<p>Avon is hardly gentle with him. Tarrant gasps as the older man forces his way inside with little lubrication and less preparation, but that's alright; he's a military man at heart and so a little pain doesn't worry him. It's hardly romantic for a first time, but Tarrant wouldn't have expected that. It feels good, Avon's body colliding recklessly against his own, sharp nails scratching down his back and leaving long, ugly marks. “You fool. You noble, selfless, arrogant <em>fool</em>.”</p>
<p>He doesn't bother to touch Tarrant, but he does subtly guide his hips, so subtly he could easily deny it if anyone dared accuse him, so he can grind himself against the cushion of Dorian's furnishings, and that's enough. Tarrant spends with a sharp moan, only half-aware of the threat of anyone hearing them, and he doesn't know if Avon thinks of that at all. If he cares.</p>
<p>Avon comes inside him with a low groan, and before Tarrant has even got his breath back he's out the door, black leather encasing him once more. Tarrant is left with his trousers around his ankles and a general sense of <em>well what the blazes happened there?</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>“I told you to leave as soon as you found out what was happening.”</p>
<p>Tarrant groans, forced against the thin mattress of his bunk on Scorpio, Avon's fingers tight and jealous around his wrists. He knew Avon would be angry when he got back. If this is how the man is choosing to express his anger from now on, however, it's hardly much of a deterrent.</p>
<p>“I did notice,” he laughs, then gasps as Avon's teeth dig greedily beneath his jaw, vampire-like. “I didn't take it very seriously though.”</p>
<p>To his credit, Avon is only thrown for a moment. “No?” he asks dully, his hand squeezing around Tarrant's clothed erection, as much a threat as a promise.</p>
<p>Tarrant grins at him. “Like I said, you know me. If you didn't want me to do something stupid and heroic, you would have picked someone else.”</p>
<p>That gets him flipped over and forced face-down against his pillow as Avon practically tears his clothing off. He's not surprised. “Don't presume on my better nature. Next time you pull a stunt like that I'll take off and leave you to the Federation's mercy.” He grins against Tarrant's neck. “I've heard they have... interesting ways of dealing with deserters.”</p>
<p>Tarrant doesn't take that very seriously either. He knows Avon too well to think he'd <em>actually</em> abandon any of them, as much as he would like to think he would. He bites the pillow as Avon thrusts inside him, hot and rough and desperate.</p>
<p>It's not as if Tarrant thinks Avon is really angry with <em>him</em>. He's angry that Servalan's alive. Fair enough; Tarrant's quite miffed about it himself. If Avon wants to take that rage out on his body, that's alright – Tarrant doesn't much mind what he does so long as he gets to come at the end of it.</p>
<p>When Avon is finished he straightens himself quickly, adjusting his hair in the mirror, observing a pile of cloth on the floor with a bemused hum. “I should be flattered. That you took my outfit as a disguise. Tell me, Tarrant, did it make you feel safer? To have a little piece of me with you?”</p>
<p>Still lounging across the bed, Tarrant has to look up to figure out what he's going on about. Then he laughs. “What, that? I stole that off one of the Helots. I'm afraid your sense of style isn't as unique as you would like to think.”</p>
<p>That makes Avon scowl, petty and childish. Tarrant keeps laughing as he walks out. On the whole, he feels just fine.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“You should have realised.”</p>
<p>Tarrant growls, dragging his nails across Avon's bare chest. “You've said.” For once they're face to face. For once he's the angry one. Not at Avon. And not at Piri – Cancer – either really; she was just doing her job. No, he's angry at <em>himself</em>. For being so easily tricked. For being the naïve fool Avon always takes him for.</p>
<p>Avon, for his part, seems amused by the whole thing, keeping him pressed against the wall with one hand while the other strokes his length teasingly. It's hardly a foolproof form of restraint, but Tarrant finds it surprisingly effective. “I have to give her credit, she played her hand well. Saw your little hero complex coming a mile off.”</p>
<p><em>You believed her too,</em> Tarrant wants to point out (at least, he hopes he did – he would hate to think Avon knew all along she was a spy and didn't tell them, for some reason, but you can hardly rule it out with him) – but under the circumstances it just seems petty. “Avon, are you ever going to fuck me? Or does humiliation do it for you much better than sex ever could?”</p>
<p>Avon quirks his eyebrow, amused, but he takes pity on Tarrant, pulling him into his lap so he can bounce atop him eagerly. Tarrant bites the other man's shoulder as Avon scratches along his spine, slaps his arse and pinches his nipples, leaves him feeling battered and bruised. See, this is much more what he's used to, not tender embraces with some delicate broken flower who needs his concern, his care.</p>
<p>He shouldn't have trusted her. He shouldn't have tried to help her. He shouldn't have tried to love her. He shouldn't...</p>
<p>When Avon is done with him he's tossed aside, and finds himself covered in marks, like labels of possession. If you didn't know better, you'd think Avon was still jealous.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“You let her have you.”</p>
<p>Tarrant stops, halfway through stripping his sweat-drenched clothes from his person. He thought they discussed all this out on the flight deck. God knows, he doesn't want to discuss it again.</p>
<p>Still, he's not one to back down easily. “What's it to you?”</p>
<p>Avon doesn't answer him. Of course not. He's above giving answers. He just paces around, door sliding shut. Tarrant is starting to feel trapped, even more so than he did on Virn, but he refuses to put his shirt back on. He won't have Avon thinking he's become shy.</p>
<p>For his part, Avon is never shy. He approaches Tarrant's bed with all-consuming confidence, fury curved into his jaw. He does not doubt at all that Tarrant's bed is his place to be. Tarrant can't help but be relieved he didn't ask for a replacement for Dayna – he doesn't want to imagine what would have happened if Avon decided to join him himself.</p>
<p>He is half-naked, confused, and feeling very, very vulnerable – and he knows Avon knows that, he always does. “What do you want, Avon?” he asks, not expecting an answer to that either.</p>
<p>Avon grins at him. “I always thought the question was what you wanted.”</p>
<p>Like that he's on Tarrant again, nursing beneath his ear and grinding against his hip. He's gentler than usual, but still Tarrant feels a strong hand running across his belly, marking him as owned. He pushes Avon away. “No.”</p>
<p>For once, Avon looks genuinely surprised. He pulls back with a pout on his lips. “No?”</p>
<p>Tarrant feels himself turning red. He just now realises how easy it has been for Avon to slide into his bed, without ever having to worry about how Tarrant himself might feel. He grins. “What's the matter, Avon? Didn't realise I knew the word? Don't take it personally. After all, I might be a little worn out – even if I wanted to, I probably couldn't get it up. I'm young, but I'm not that young.”</p>
<p>When Avon grins, all his wrinkles shine through. “I see. So you don't want to, then?”</p>
<p>He returns to drawing toothmarks along Tarrant's collarbone, making him gasp and tilt his head back as the blood goes rushing south to his groin. This attempt to act like he doesn't want Avon, at least not enough to let him treat him like his own personal whore, collides messily with the fact he <em>does</em> want Avon, very badly.</p>
<p>“You wanted her,” Avon murmurs into his skin. His prick is starting to jut into Tarrant's stomach, making him shudder. “I wouldn't have imagined her as a generous lover.”</p>
<p><em>How have you imagined her, then?</em> “You'd be surprised,” he laughs, absent-mindedly keening from the mattress. “Granted, she's the most venomous woman I've ever met, but she at least bothered with a little seduction first. Didn't simply throw me down as if it was her god-given right to have her way with me.”</p>
<p>Avon stops, moving upward to meet Tarrant's eyes again. “Is that what you want?” he asks. Tarrant is struck dumb, not sure how to answer. “Well, that can be arranged.”</p>
<p>That's how Tarrant finds himself pushed onto his back as Avon kisses his way down his torso with purpose. He watches as Avon's clever fingers find the zip of his trousers, aristocratic features blank, until he takes Tarrant's cock in his mouth and his eyes slide shut. Tarrant hasn't had time to wash since he got back from Virn; perhaps Avon can still taste her on him.</p>
<p>He wonders how Avon would react if he told him the real reason he slept with her – how she cried over Don Keller, how she seemed vulnerable, hurt, defenseless, and he wanted to help. Avon probably wouldn't believe him.</p>
<p>Tarrant's body complies easily with Avon's will, moaning as he thrusts between Avon's cool lips. Once Avon has him on the brink of begging, he pulls up, claiming his rightful place between Tarrant's thighs: “She didn't want you, you know. You were simply there, and she used you.”</p>
<p>Yes, Tarrant had rather figured that out. He laughs to himself. “Well, she at least bothered pretending otherwise.”</p>
<p>Once Avon is done with him he runs his fingers through his curls, softly, as if he isn't quite sure what to do. Tarrant pulls away from him. “You can go now,” he says. “You got what you wanted.”</p>
<p>He is tired and wants to rest. Avon stiffens above him. “Very well,” he says and easily he is gone, as if he'd never been there in the first place.</p>
<p>It would be nice to think Avon was angry because he dared touch someone else. Oh, wouldn't that be nice.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Tarrant grits his teeth, nervous, as he knocks on Avon's door. It made perfect sense when Soolin explained it – Avon and Vila have been acting oddly ever since they got back from Malodaar; someone has to talk to them before they get everyone killed. Of course, Soolin neatly excused herself from that duty on the grounds that he and Dayna had known them both much longer than she had. Dayna volunteered to deal with Vila, since he liked her best of all of them. And that left Avon to Tarrant.</p>
<p>“Come in.”</p>
<p><em>Damn.</em> Tarrant hadn't thought it would be that easy. Still, he can hardly back down, so he pushes himself inside with as much confidence as he can muster. “Ah, Avon,” he says. “There you are. I wanted to talk to you.”</p>
<p>Avon lies deathly still on his bunk, eyes trained unflinchingly on the ceiling above. He looks practically mummified, ready for burial. Tarrant finds it very unsettling.</p>
<p>“Really now.” Avon's eyes flicker toward him slowly, without focusing. It's enough to make Tarrant wonder if he's been drinking. Like Vila wasn't bad enough. “Is <em>that</em> what you want?”</p>
<p>An irritated flush rises to Tarrant's cheeks as he approaches. Really, it's unfair of Avon to cast aspersions on his motives, given he's never been the one to come for Avon for sex – somehow he knew if he tried that Avon would dismiss him out of hand. “Look, whatever happened between you and Vila on Malodaar, I suggest you sort it out between the two of you soon. Wrangling this anti-Federation alliance is going to be difficult enough without us fighting among ourselves–”</p>
<p>Avon breaks into an uncharacteristic giggle. It doesn't suit him. “I see. I presume then I can count on your unquestioning support?”</p>
<p>Tarrant glowers. He feels like he's being accused unfairly again – yes, he and Avon have had their tensions over leadership, he has been loyal to Avon for a long time, much longer than he ever wasn't.</p>
<p>He perches on the side of Avon's bed, although there isn't really room for him. Avon's put on weight over the past year, he realises. “Not unquestioning,” but Avon <em>has</em> his support, surely he must know that?</p>
<p>“Of course.” Avon's eyes are cold and bore right through him. Tarrant wants to shy away, but he refuses to be a coward. “Am I supposed to confide in you, is that? Confess my sins and expose myself to your judgement?”</p>
<p>Tarrant doesn't know how he's meant to answer that, but what he comes out with is: “Well, why not? Who else are you going to talk to?”</p>
<p>That makes Avon stop. He finally focuses on Tarrant's face, and Tarrant bites his lip nervously. Maybe he should have said that. He's just opened himself up to attack, he knows he has.</p>
<p>“Kiss me.”</p>
<p>Tarrant recoils. <em>He really doesn't want to talk about this, does he? </em>He's learned enough he can recognise this seduction for what it is – not an act of lust, or even anger, but distraction. <em>He and Servalan make a fine pair.</em> “No, thank you,” he scowls petulantly.</p>
<p>Avon, again, seems amused by his refusal. “I know you want to.”</p>
<p>He laughs bitterly. “Yes well, I wasn't under the impression what I wanted mattered.” And Avon blinks in surprise, for a second seeming hurt.</p>
<p>This is pointless. If Avon isn't willing to talk about Malodaar, then Tarrant better leave before he does something foolish. When he stands to go, however, Avon suddenly grabs him by the wrist, holds him captive. “Kiss me,” he repeats, but his voice sounds different now, almost – almost needy. He hesitates. “I – want you to.”</p>
<p><em>To, or too?</em> Tarrant knows he shouldn't. He's sure this is just another one of Avon's mindgames. And yet Avon inevitably pulls him in with all the gravity of a black hole, until he's lying atop the other man and pressing their bodies as close together as he can, but he never gets close enough, not really.</p>
<p>Avon lies still as Tarrant tears his clothing in frustration. The lack of response bothers him – he, young and eager as ever, is already hardening against Avon's thigh. Avon says he wants it, but... “Avon, we don't have to do this if you–”</p>
<p>Nails dig into his shoulder, making Tarrant jump. “I want to,” Avon says, not quite meeting his eye. “Now get on with it.”</p>
<p>Well, no-one could say those orders were unclear. Tarrant acts on instinct, kissing his way down Avon's lightly furred chest and pale belly (softer than it once was, perhaps, but he's not here to judge) until he's nuzzling at the man's prick through his trousers, pulling the zip with his teeth, unable to resist showing off a little.</p>
<p>Not that Avon seems to notice. His eyes are on the ceiling again, and he's still soft as Tarrant pulls him out from the grasping leather. He reasons that's only to be expected at Avon's age, and if he's been drinking. Tarrant takes him in his mouth with misplaced confidence</p>
<p>That earns him a satisfying groan, hands folding gingerly through his curls. “Yes, that's – that's good.” Avon is quiet, but Tarrant is spurred on regardless, running his tongue teasingly along the underside, wondering if Avon would like it if he used his teeth. Avon doesn't push him at all, but Tarrant quickly finds a rhythm, whole body moving in sync as he bobs his head.</p>
<p>He looks up, hoping to make eye contact. But Avon doesn't look at him. For the best, really. He doesn't want to look too imploring; for Avon to imagine that when he sucks his cock he's really saying <em>talk to me. Trust me.</em></p>
<p>No matter how hard he tries though, swallowing until he's almost choking, he can't work Avon to more than a partial erection, and when he pulls off to breathe those hands tug his hair halfheartedly. “Rest assured, it's not personal.” When Tarrant looks up again, there's a faint gleam in Avon's eye. “I am, admittedly, old. Come here.”</p>
<p>He finds himself drawn back into Avon's embrace, kissing him with great hesitation. Avon moves slowly, catlike, until his fleshy thighs wrap around Tarrant's waist, and it's not unclear what he means by that. Tarrant pauses. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>For the first time this evening, Avon smiles at him. “Caution, Tarrant? How unlike you.”</p>
<p>With a sigh Tarrant goes searching for the lube. In theory, he might be within rights to plunge inside and damn the consequences, to treat Avon as roughly and as brusquely as he's always treated him. But he doesn't want that. He wants Avon to enjoy this.</p>
<p>But when he pushes in Avon's erection falters further, and Tarrant can see him wince in pain. “Avon–”</p>
<p>“Don't stop,” he growls, low enough it sounds like a threat.</p>
<p>So Tarrant doesn't. He can hardly resist the tight heat of Avon around his cock anyway, even if the rest of him lies there like a dead fish. He doesn't last long. He thrusts into Avon with military precision until he's finished, and when he's done Avon is completely soft.</p>
<p>He pulls away, disappointed and embarrassed. “Avon – should I–?”</p>
<p>“There's no need.” Avon speaks without emotion. <em>What a surprise.</em> “That was nice. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Tarrant doesn't believe a word, but exhausted, he collapses atop Avon's chest. He knows he'll be pushed away soon – they're not the type for post-coital cuddling. Still, he reasons, soon is not now.</p>
<p>“You should have left me on Terminal.”</p>
<p>He looks up. He hadn't thought about Terminal in months, and blinks at Avon bringing it up now, of all times. “And why do you say that?”</p>
<p>“Because <em>I could have killed you.</em>” Tarrant flinches. Honestly, he was trying to forget that. Avon smirks. “I threatened to, twice in half an hour. And if you'd only done what I'd said, as far as you knew, you would have had the Liberator all to yourself, and a crew who would, presumably, accept you as their captain.” <em>And we all would have died when she broke up midflight,</em> but of course neither of them knew that at the time. “You had no good reason to come after me. Except one, of course.”</p>
<p>Tarrant lifts his chin stubbornly. Avon's words leave him feeling exposed, raw, but he's not going to show weakness. “And what's that then?”</p>
<p>“You love me.”</p>
<p>He is struck dumb. Avon seems amused by his shock. “You haven't realised it yet, have you? Rest assured, I figured it out awhile ago. I would have told you, but it felt... unseemly.”</p>
<p>Tarrant swallows hard. Is Avon right, is he in love with him? It would explain a lot. He remembers how he felt on the bridge of the Liberator, trying to get Avon to tell them what the hell he was up to. <em>Talk to me. Trust me.</em></p>
<p>“If that's so, why are you telling me now?” he asks. “Guilt? Afraid you've taken advantage of my romantic delusions for an easy fuck and nothing more?”</p>
<p>Avon frowns, uncertainty clouding his features. “That wasn't my intention. On the contrary, I meant to – scare you off me. To show you that I didn't – I <em>couldn't</em> – love you back. Because,” and he grins and that way he does sometimes, at a private joke none of the rest of them are clever enough to get, “you deserve better, I'm afraid, than to spend the prime of your life risking it for a man twice your age, who has never treated you with anything but contempt.”</p>
<p>That is the truth, isn't it? He loves Avon and Avon can't love him back. It is rather romantic, in a very old-fashioned way.</p>
<p>Unsure of what to do, Tarrant grins back at him. “Come now, Avon, you know me better than that,” he says. “Have I ever been one to give up on a hopeless cause?”</p>
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